A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) Page 24

  The TV started to cover the flu deaths in Colorado Springs and Jack waved it off. His finger vibrated.

  “Unknown caller,” said the female voice.

  “Hang up.”

  The finger vibrated again.

  “Unknown caller.”

  “Answer.”

  “What’s the matter, old man? Too scared to talk?” Sergio’s voice crackled and Jack guessed it was a proxy bouncer.

  “Someone lit my house on fire, that’s the problem,” he said.

  “Too bad. Someone held a gun on me and didn’t fight like a real man.”

  “Padre called you, didn’t he?”

  “He sure did. He wants me to say sorry for all the bad things I did. How about we meet and I say it in your face?”

  “The old lumber mill on Painted Rock and West Creek Road,” said Jack. “If you don’t know where it is then figure it out. No phone service and no GP so learn how to read a map, retard. Be there tomorrow at noon.”

  “You got it,” said Sergio.

  Jack drove over to Mike’s place and knocked. Before the door opened he heard the kids yelling and running around inside.

  “Come in and have something to eat,” said Mike.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Mike handed him a wooden box. The nickel-plated .357 was inside along with thirty rounds.

  “I’m not going to ask why you need it,” said Mike.

  “Protection. Thanks for letting me borrow it, friend. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

  Mike looked back into the house. He stepped outside and shut the door.

  “There’s one thing you can do for me, Jack. You’ve heard about Denver and back east? The quarantines?”

  “Some of it.”

  “The kids have been at home. It’s not even safe for them at school.”

  “It’s not that bad is it?”

  “Lots of flu cases here and in the valley. I saw huge white tents outside the hospital. Also, the brass pulled the security detachment and sent them to Carson.”

  “All of them? There were thirty or forty guys at Altmann.”

  “What happened in Denver is coming south and they know it. Quarantines, riots, and now Taiwan. Jack, things are coming down around our ears. I’ve started teaching a few of the staff how to use weapons in the armory, but with everything else it’s overwhelming. Can you drive up and give me a hand?”

  “I’ve got a thing tomorrow. Once that’s done I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t take too long. Both Carson and Schriever locked down yesterday.”

  “But they’re open now, right?”

  “Nope, both still listed as ‘Let’s Not Die.’”

  “LET’S NOT DIE” meant Facility LND, or “Long-term Nuclear Defense.” A base could go on temporary lockdown, no personnel allowed in or out, but usually relaxed the rules after a few hours. Long-term Nuclear Defense was more extreme. It was a hundred-year-old plan for self-contained survival of the facility.

  Jack wondered how everything could fall apart in just one week. He had a burger at an empty diner in Woodland Park then drove back to the Silver Spur. He cleaned the revolver and the Model 70, then put on long underwear and the thick outdoor clothing he’d worn all week during the mountain workshop. The olive-green jacket and trousers were designed for cold-weather. It was better than what they’d given his Rangers in Tawang province.

  Sergio’s auto-post had been off since the beatdown. It didn’t matter anyway because Jack had a surprise for him.

  Around midnight he drove north and turned off on the gravel road to the lumber mill.

  The owner had gone out of business a few years ago. Most of the wood and equipment was gone but a long, open shed stood at one end of the yard.

  Long stacks of discarded logs rotted quietly in the Impala’s headlights. Jack parked the car next to a stack to conceal it from the road. As he opened the door and stood up, the driver’s window shattered and something jerked hard on his metal hand. Jack dropped flat and cursed. He held his hand and crawled through the bits of safety glass and bark toward the trunk. The wood pile covered his right, the car his left. He guessed the shot had come from the trees in front of the car.

  He didn’t want to give the shooter time to think and cracked open the trunk. Another bullet shattered the back window and square fragments of safety glass danced across the sea-green metal. Jack grabbed the Model 70 and jumped for the log pile. The shooter had something high-caliber. At least .308, or even .30 Magnum rounds. He ran for the next pile and no shots came.

  The first bullet had ripped a hole through his glove and the upper part of the metal hand. The middle and fourth fingers no longer moved. The shooter was untrained and too eager, Jack thought. He should have waited for a killing shot.

  Jack crept through the yard and into a drainage ditch next to the road. With the 70 in his arms he crawled on his elbows and knees through the ditch to a culvert. The narrow tunnel passed under the road and an icy trickle of water covered the bottom. Jack made it through the tunnel and crawled along a muddy stream. It led into pine trees all planted in long rows, probably by the forestry service. He climbed the bank of the stream and crouched, then moved from tree to tree over the soft brown needles. When he had a good view of the open space in front of the Impala he lay prone.

  Jack pulled the bolt on his rifle back then forward. One in the chamber and four in the magazine. With one eye he looked through the 8X scope and tried to remember when he’d range-sighted it. The car was probably fifty to seventy-five yards away.

  No engines started and Jack waited, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He guessed the shooter had humped it out on foot. Or, he could be the kind of idiot who stuck around after two missed shots.

  Jack knew he could leave. He could walk away. Hike back to the main road and get a phone connection. He wrinkled his nose. With thoughts like that, maybe he really was an old man.

  Movement across the tall grass. Two shadows walked with bent knees toward the Impala. Through the scope Jack saw rifles in their hands. He exhaled, held his breath for a count of two, and fired. The one in front went down. Jack pulled back the bolt to eject the shell and shoved it forward. The second one had started to run. Jack aimed and shot him in the back.

  He sprinted through the pines and across the dirt road. Sergio lay on his back, a hole in his temple and blood spreading through the grass. The second body lay face-down, a dark stain on the back of his Canadian tuxedo. A scoped rifle lay in the grass nearby. Jack wiped his Model 70 with a rag and switched it for the man’s rifle.

  He left his Impala and the bodies and hiked through the night back to town. He avoided roads and houses and buried pieces of the dead man’s rifle along the way.

  FIFTEEN

  Jack took half the night to walk back to the Silver Spur. He napped a few hours then called WPPD to report a stolen vehicle and his missing Model 70.

  “We’ll look for it,” said the duty officer, his voice the tired crinkle of an empty cigarette packet. “But honestly, we’re short of people. Half the force is out with the flu. Hell, I’d leave if there was anyone else to work the phones.”

  Jack didn’t know if what he’d just heard was good or bad.

  He rode his motorcycle to a hunting supply store in Woodland Park. The owner was boxing up everything. He knew Jack had been in the war, though, and let him buy some clothes.

  “End of the world,” said the owner. He shook his head. “This’ll be the first place people will run to. They’re not getting my guns, I tell you that for free.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Got a cabin up north.”

  Jack changed his clothes then called Mike to let him know he was coming. He made sure Parvati was already at Altmann too.

  Joanie didn’t answer her phone and he hated voicemail.

  “Call Colleen.”

  “Dialing.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Mom wants to check o
n Granpa. We’re on 24 right now.”

  “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “No classes today. Don’t you watch the news, Dad? It’s the flu thing.”

  “Colleen, turn around and drive home.”

  “Why? We’re just going to Granpa’s.”

  “Trust me for once, okay?”

  “All right. Bye.”

  Route 24 was packed with cars traveling west. Everyone was behind the wheel and Jack guessed the traffic net was down. The few Sparrows he passed were all driving like normal cars and not flying. Had to be for the same reason. Jack threaded his bike through the stopped traffic and slowed down near the fender-benders. He saw only one trooper the entire way and no state police in the sky.

  After an hour of driving he turned off on the gravel road leading to Altmann. He wound up through the pass and stopped at the guard shack. A man in civvies held an ACR rifle uncomfortably.

  “Don’t point that thing at me,” said Jack.

  “What?”

  Jack flipped up his helmet visor. “I said, don’t point that at me. You’ll destroy all the beautiful feelings between us.”

  “What feelings?”

  “Exactly.”

  Jack parked near his old building and took the elevator underground. Handguns and parts from an ACR covered Mike’s desk. He was behind it reading a yellow sheet of paper. Jack set down the wooden box with the .357.

  Mike looked up. “We’re at DEFCON 3.”

  “Shit buckets. When?”

  “Twenty minutes ago.”

  “Is this place secure? There’s only one half-cocked idiot at the front gate.”

  “I’ll try to get a couple more. They’re good people, not idiots Jack. If we’re not on lockdown now, we will be.”

  MIKE HAD FOUND A dozen of the staff who could handle guns. He inventoried the armory cache while Jack talked about gun safety and the basics of the K12 rifle.

  Jack would have preferred a lighter and more dependable weapon like the ACR but the K12 was easy for beginners. Along the top rail was a big and boxy optic system with integrated targeting assist. Basically, point the camera at the target and pull the trigger. Below the main barrel was a launcher for 20mm air-burst grenades that also targeted the same way. The Army called them “fire-and-forget” rounds, but to Jack it was more like “forget-to-fire.” Mike had found a six-round clip and Jack kept it for himself.

  The base didn’t have a range. Jack took them to a field with a good backdrop and let each of the newbies empty a thirty-round clip into cans. Some of the rifle cameras hadn’t been zeroed-in. Jack showed how to reset the targeting computer.

  Half knew how to use the 10mm Taurus pistol. Jack let everyone fire a few rounds and corrected hand positions. He gathered everyone in a circle and talked about fields of fire, establishing a perimeter, and target identification.

  Parvati walked up after an hour of practice. “Jack, there’s a meeting in the conference room.”

  “I don’t even work here anymore. I’m just helping Mike.”

  “Helping or working, Cinderella, you and your little birdies are wanted.”

  Jack and the trainees secured their weapons in Mike’s office and walked through the empty building. Voices murmured in the hallway and grew loud as Jack opened the conference room door. Uniformed and civilian staff packed the room, all standing. Dr. Allen was speaking at the front of the room but Jack couldn’t see through the mass of people.

  “As I said, we’ll make every provision to allow family members into the base. Simon has taken over Building 61 as a quarantine zone and we think the new test will detect the betavirus.”

  “You think?” shouted a man with a gravelly voice. “What if they fail the test?”

  “The quarantine area has living areas and everyone will be kept separate to avoid cross-contamination.” Dr. Allen paused. “You’ve all heard news from Denver and back east. I’m not going to sugar-coat the situation like the media. Most of the big cities––L.A., Chicago, New York––are ghost towns. The betavirus has a 95% mortality rate once symptoms exhibit. Death is a direct result of cellular wall breakdown and organ failure, and follows three to four hours later. We don’t know the incubation period. As you’ve probably read, it’s transmitted through the air, usually through exhaled water vapor.”

  The lights in the room flickered. The room went dark then brightened a few seconds later.

  “Initial symptoms are the same as a bad flu: chills alternating with fever, sweating, shivering, nausea, and expectoration. Anyone contacting a person showing symptoms without wearing a mask or protection will be considered infected. If you leave the base, consider that. No one leaves without masks and direct permission from a division head or Dr. Ming.”

  A woman coughed and Dr. Allen glanced in her direction.

  “If you haven’t realized how serious this situation has become, let me remind you. Washington pulled their diplomats from Beijing yesterday and ordered all Americans to leave the country. The feeds on the net have been going crazy with rumors of the betavirus as a direct attack from the Chinese. It’s not our job to spread these kind of rumors. Our job is to protect the integrity of this facility and the research we’ve been developing for decades.”

  The room filled with murmurs and a few heated questions. Jack stepped into the hallway and called Colleen but the phone was busy. Joanie didn’t pick up either.

  Parvati leaned against the corridor wall. “So what do we do now?”

  “I guess we stick around. I need to find some clothes.”

  “You could use a nap, too.”

  They snooped around the armory and found Army fatigues in Jack’s size. Parvati had a sofa with a pull-out bed and Jack slept for a few hours. He woke up hungry and the pair of them walked outside to the main cafeteria. A robo-hauler with a train of long black rectangles whirred by on the way to an underground storage area.

  They were still eating when a chorus of tones sounded and the speaker system clicked.

  “Facility alert DEFCON 2. Repeat, DEFCON 2. All personnel report to duty or shelter in place. This is not a drill. Facility alert–”

  “Is ‘2’ good or bad?” asked Parvati. “I can never remember.”

  “Bad like a house on fire,” said Jack, standing up. “DEFCON 1 is next. Those idiots back east are going to pop nukes.”

  He tried to dial out as they left the building. The network was down and he couldn’t find Colleen’s auto-post to see her location.

  “Number unavailable,” said the phone’s female voice.

  “Hell and spit,” said Jack.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Colleen went to the city and her phone isn’t working.”

  Jack dialed a few more numbers but the system was overloaded or down. Back at Parvati’s office he tried a gray military phone but got the same result––number unavailable. He set down the handset with a curse and it buzzed.

  “Both of you get to my office,” said Mike’s voice.

  Jack and Parvati took the elevator deeper into the mountain. Mike was in his office with Dr. Allen.

  “Good to see you, Jack,” said Dr. Allen. “Under better circumstances–”

  “Doc, I’m in a hurry.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “We need someone to go to Schriever.”

  “Why are you both looking at me? I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  “We need special equipment for an implant procedure and Schriever has it,” said Dr. Allen. “Mil-com is down, phone service is out. Someone has to physically drive down the mountain and get it from their lab.”

  “You know we’re at DEFCON 2,” said Jack.

  “That’s why it has to be done now, before it’s too late. I can’t send Mike. We’re short-staffed and Ming has shoved the contingency plan down my throat. You’re the best guy available.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Jack, one of my patients will die if you can’t do it. Probably more. This is critical for the pr
oject.”

  Jack stared at a spot on the gray-painted wall for a moment.

  “Fine. But I’ll need a HUGO from the lot.”

  “No problem.”

  Dr. Allen scribbled lines on a sheet of paper. He took out a small seal, pressed down hard, and handed the paper to Jack. “You’ll need this to get into Schriever.”

  Relevant Personnel:

  The bearer of this document is USAF Captain Jack Garcia. He’s to be granted full access to Schriever AFB under authority of Special Advisor to the Joint Chiefs of Staff Doctor Zhang Ming. He’s cleared for SWORD.

  Dr. Greg Allen

  Altmann Research Station

  “You’ve got this wrong. I’m not an officer and I wasn’t in the Air Force.”

  “I know that, but it’s the only way I can give you a war commission. You might have fewer problems this way. Now raise your right hand.”

  “This is too stupid to be true,” Jack muttered. He repeated everything from Dr. Allen.

  “Now can I leave?”

  “Immediately. What we need from Schriever is called an RS3, or simply a ‘sequencer.’ It’s in the basement of the 4th SES building. Here are orders allowing them to release it. It’s only a medium-sized cylinder, you won’t need help.”

  Mike gave him a protective NBC suit with helmet, a few facemasks, a Milcom radio, and a K12 with three clips. Together they took the elevator to the vehicle lot. Dr. Allen swiped his fingertip and the bay doors rolled up.

  An armored truck the color of wood ash waited inside. Low and wide, HUGO trucks carried up to six troops into combat. The armor wasn’t thick but could stop most small arms. The undercarriage was high and the truck could drive over just about anything.

  Dr. Allen opened a lockbox and gave the keyfob to Jack. “Good luck.”

  Mike shifted his weight from one foot to another until Dr. Allen had gone. “Jack, check on my house, okay?”

  “I’ll bring Gina and the kids back with me.”

  “Thanks, Jack.”

  Parvati gave him a tight hug and a kiss. “Just bring yourself back. In one piece.”

  “How about a piece that glows in the dark?”

  Jack pressed the starter button and the twelve cylinders roared to life. Mike and Parvati didn’t wave as he drove out the vehicle bay and neither did Jack.